


I'll be close behind

by BlueGreen56



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trigger Warnings Ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueGreen56/pseuds/BlueGreen56
Summary: This fic is inspired by the song I'll follow you into the dark by Death Cab For Cutie. Go listen to it if you haven't already, it's such a JoeNicky song.Trigger warnings have been tagged, PLEASE GO READ THOSE before reading the fic, and PLEASE let me know if you think I missed a warning. I don't want to trigger anyone so I apologize in advance if my missing tags causes that and feel free to tell me so.English isn't my first language so let me know if I missed any glaring mistakes. If you don't like this fic, don't be a dick about it. Close the tab and move on.Again, READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS.Happy reading. I hope this makes you weep.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 27
Kudos: 82





	I'll be close behind

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by the song I'll follow you into the dark by Death Cab For Cutie. Go listen to it if you haven't already, it's such a JoeNicky song.
> 
> Trigger warnings have been tagged, PLEASE GO READ THOSE before reading the fic, and PLEASE let me know if you think I missed a warning. I don't want to trigger anyone so I apologize in advance if my missing tags causes that and feel free to tell me so.
> 
> English isn't my first language so let me know if I missed any glaring mistakes. If you don't like this fic, don't be a dick about it. Close the tab and move on.
> 
> Again, READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS.
> 
> Happy reading. I hope this makes you weep.

Every time one of them died, both Joe and Nicky would worry that this would be the last time; that this time the other won’t come back. While it had been a concern earlier, after Andy died for the last time, it became even more of a pressing matter. With every death, they got one closer to losing each other once and for all. When they held each other, their arms wound tighter; their kisses became more desperate; and they were loath to leave the other’s side for even a minute. They never knew, after all, which time would be their last.

It finally happened a little after Andy’s death. Once Andy’s immortality went away, she began to age like normal people and at the end of the day, that’s what killed her – old age. They had met with Booker and Quyhn a few centuries ago and the five of them – Nile, Booker, Quyhn, Nicolo, and Joe – were back hunting together, dying together, and coming back to life. Together.

On one such mission, they were tasked to infiltrate a camp where women were being kept for “breeding”. The male children from the resulting pregnancies were separated from their mothers and were brought up as part of their cult, and the female children were thrown back into the breeding pens. From what little they knew about the camp, it disgusted Joe to the core.

Something went wrong. Joe couldn’t have told you what went wrong or how, but something did. He and Quyhn were separated from the rest of the group with no backup and no means of communicating with them. Joe pushed down a growing sense of dread as they barged into the room and tried to help the trapped women to escape. Helping people like this wasn’t always easy. For some of them, this was the only home they’d ever known, the only way of life they knew of, and they didn’t want to leave the safety of the known for the unknown; even if the life they knew wasn’t really a happy one.

Five minutes later, the room was empty and Joe and Quyhn were headed to the van waiting outside the compound flanking the freed women – Joe in front of them so they could see his movements at all times, and Quyhn behind them.

Just as they turned the corner into the courtyard, a body stumbled into Joe, knocking him backwards. Without even looking at the face, he knew it was Nicolo. Half of his face seemed to have blown away while fighting the owners of the farm; there was no way he’d survive.

A chill went up Joe’s spine. Another time having to watch his love die right in his arms. Before he could even call out to her, Quyhn was taking control of the situation – hiding the women and children and fighting the two remaining men.

Ignoring the war raging around him, Joe slowly sat down on the ground and cradled Nicolo’s head in his lap. As was their tradition over the last few centuries, Joe began to silently sing to Nicolo, reassuring him in his last moments until the next time.

_Love of mine, some day you will die, but I’ll be close behind_   
_I’ll follow you into the dark_

Nicolo turned his head in Joe’s lap and groaned, raising his hand towards Joe.

“I know it hurts, habibi. It’s just a few minutes and then you’ll be back to me in one piece, okay?”

_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks_   
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_

Joe brought up his hand to cup Nicolo’s cheek in his palm and felt his husband nuzzle into the touch with closed eyes.

_You and me we've seen everything to see_   
_From Bangkok to Calgary and the soles of your shoes_   
_Are all worn down_

“Ti amo, habibi. Sei tutto per me.” Joe whispered as Nicolo took his last shuddery breath and went limp in his arms. Joe wiped away his tears as a bout of rage took over him. No matter how many times he saw Nicolo die, he always got angry at the people who attacked him.

_The time for sleep is now_   
_But it's nothing to cry about_   
_'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms_

“Nicolo!” he roared and felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. He knew major injuries take longer to heal so it will take Nicolo a couple of minutes to wake up again. Joe set down Nicolo’s head on the ground gently and left a lingering kiss on the center of Nicolo’s palm before he rushed to join Quyhn and within a few minutes, the remaining enemies were dead.

Joe turned back with anticipation, hoping to see Nicolo awake by now, or at least his wounds healing to some extent, but he was lying there on the ground in the same condition Joe had left him.

“No no no!” Joe exclaimed and rushed to his side. “Nicolo, wake up. Destati, Nicolo. NICOLO!” His hands hovered over Nicolo’s body, unable to get himself to touch him. As if his touching Nicolo would make it more real.

Anger. Pain. Confusion. Guilt. 

An empty numbness spread through Joe, making him feel cold all over. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Nicolo and he were soul mates, destined to live together and die together. There’s no way Nicolo would leave without him, right?

In a haze, he wrapped up Nicolo’s body and carried it to the van, oblivious of the worried look that passed between Nile, Booker, and Quyhn. He wouldn’t leave Nicolo alone just because it was taking him longer to get back.

On the ride back, Joe kept fidgeting with the blanket wrapped around Nicolo’s body, making sure he had enough space to breathe when he woke up. Once they got to the safe house where they were staying, Joe picked Nicolo up bridal style, and carried him up two flights of stairs to their room. He didn’t notice the heavy silence that surrounded the other three in his presence; he didn’t notice the hushed whispers behind his back that were accompanied by pained, if concerned looks shared between them; he didn’t notice his muscled screaming with exertion as he ascended the stairs, one step at a time. The only thing he noticed was the stillness of Nicolo’s chest, the way he still wasn’t breathing or healing or even showing signs of starting to heal. He noticed the way the blood had congealed on his head and the bloody stains that were on his own clothes and hands – Nicolo’s blood stains.

Placing Nicolo gently on the bed, he made his way back down to get a couple of bowls of warm water, a clean cloth, and the first aid kit that they didn’t need but kept anyway for some reason. He took out a tray and carried everything back upstairs, ignoring the obvious glances the others were throwing his way.

In the room, he set down the tray on the bedside table and began to strip Nicolo off to wash his body. With tender hands, he cleaned Nicolo’s wounds and patched him up. Then he proceeded to wipe off the dirt and grime from the rest of his body, patching up whatever minor injuries he missed. Once Nicolo was cleaned up, Joe went to the closet to bring out a fresh set of clothes and dressed him up, combing his hair and setting his head on the pillow.

When he went downstairs to put back the first aid kit and throw away the dirty and bloodied water, Quyhn and Booker had just finished preparing dinner.

“You want some, Joe?” Booker asked in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“I’ll just take some upstairs to the room, thank you.” Joe replied gruffly and immediately turned back to avoid further conversation. He wanted to get back to Nicolo as soon as he could, so that he wouldn't be alone when he came back.

Preparing a plate for himself and one for Nicolo, Joe went back upstairs and sat down on the bed, cross legged and facing Nicolo.

“You will not believe the mission we had, Nicolo.” Joe started, and while he ate, he recalled the mission and what all happened since Nicolo had died. “I can’t wait for you to be back.”

That night, in an attempt to not disturb Nicolo, Joe cradled one of Nicolo’s palms between both of his own, instead of wrapping himself completely around his husband like he was wont to do.

The next few days passed in a similar manner, with Joe leaving Nicolo’s side only for the basics and coming back as soon as he could. Whenever someone brought his behavior up, he would simply reply “I want to be by his side when he wakes up.” And turn around or leave the room to avoid further discussion.

On the third day, or maybe it was the fourth; Joe had no idea because somewhere along the line, time had stopped being of essence (if Joe acknowledged the passing of time, he would also have to acknowledge that it had been far too long and Nicolo was never coming back to him); when he went down to grab himself something to eat, he was cornered by Nile and Quyhn.

“Joe.” Nile began sternly. “Sit.”

Joe complied, almost robotically.

“We need to talk-“ Nile began before she was cut off by Quyhn.

“Nicky isn’t coming back, Joe. We have to burn his body and give him a funeral, it’s been too long.”

Pain pierced through his chest and Joe could feel his heart breaking at those words – words he knew to be true but didn’t want to acknowledge anyway.

He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a gasping breath and the next thing Joe knew was that he was sobbing like a baby, leaning against someone’s chest with two pairs of arms wrapped around him.

“I can’t lose him.” He blubbered. “He can’t leave me like this, I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

A few heart wrenching minutes later, Joe sat up straight to see tears streaming down Booker, Nile, and Quyhn’s faces as well. He may not have Nicolo anymore, but at least he still had them.

A lengthy discussion about the funeral took place during which Joe zoned out. All he knew was that they would find some wood and burn Nicolo’s body that night, before it was too late. Joe seemed to be rooted to the chair he was in. It all seemed so final. A funeral meant that Nicolo really was never coming back to life. Joe would never hold him in his arms again. He’d never kiss the mole on his jaw, or stare into those eyes which seemed to change color with the lighting. Never again would Joe hear Nicolo tell him how much he loved him as they worshipped (or ravaged) each other. Thinking about the things he would never get to experience again seemed like a punch to his gut, and for the first time in days, he couldn’t bring himself to go up to his room to seek solace in Nicolo.

Joe lost the next few hours sitting at the table, staring at nothing as his heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces, with no Nicolo to glue them back together, and before he knew it, it was time to say his final goodbyes.

As one of the others collects the wood and fuel to prepare the pyre, Joe sits in their room, making himself look at Nicolo one last time, who is still lying in the bed they shared. He cups Nicolo’s cheek in his palm and brushes away a stray strand of hair.

“You know I love you, Nicolo, but I can’t help but wish I never met you because if I never met you, I’d never fall in love with you, and I never would have had to go through the overwhelming pain of losing you. We were supposed to have forever together, you weren’t supposed to leave me behind. I have no idea what I’ll do without you, habibi.”

Between one moment and the next, Joe finds himself in an empty field with a pyre built in front of him, wood surrounding Nicolo’s body, and fuel doused on the wooden slats. Tears filled Joe’s eyes and he couldn’t breathe through his crying, as he distantly noticed a lit match light up the pyre.

“Nicolo!” He screamed and made to move towards the burning wood in an ironic reenactment of an ancient Indian ritual where a widow would be burned with her dead husband at the pyre.

He felt arms wrap around his torso and he struggled against their grip. “Let me go! That’s my Nicolo. He needs me! I need to be with him!” He protested but the arms didn’t let go. His protests, pleas, threats, begs, all fell on deaf ears as he slowly watched the wood burn to ash and take Nicolo along with it. And just like that, within minutes, there was nothing left to show that the pile of ashes was once a human.

As the pyre burnt out, so did the fire within Joe, as he slumped in the grip of the person holding him and fell to the ground, empty and broken – a shell of who he once was. And thus began the nightmare that was the rest of his life.

He tried, he really did, to move on after Nicolo, but every night going to sleep in an empty bed made it difficult to breathe.

One night, a few weeks after losing Nicolo, Joe insisted on making apple pie, it was Nicolo’s favorite and he wanted to feel close to him once again. While peeling the apples, the blade slipped and nicked his thumb. Seeing the blood pool on his finger made the wheels turn in his head and once the thought crept in, he couldn’t get rid of it.

The first night, it was Joe slicing open his wrists, bleeding to death. The seventh night, it was Joe trying to overdose himself with sleeping pills. The hundredth try was deliberately getting caught during a mission and letting the captors shoot his brains out. Joe tried everything, drugs, alcohol, bullets; he died each time, but it never stuck and he always came back.

He had no idea if the others knew what he was doing, but he didn’t care for the answer either way. His will to live had died that night with Nicolo, and he couldn’t wait to finally end this and reunite with his soul mate in the afterlife. If it existed. And if it didn’t, at least he’ll be out of his suffering.

With that in mind, Joe reached the top of the building, over 300 meters above the ground, and stepped off the roof, hurtling towards the ground below. He hit the ground with a splat as his bones broke and his brain splattered around him. He took his last breath as darkness enveloped him and he hoped that maybe this time it’ll stick. Maybe this time, it’ll be all over once and for all, and he’d not be in constant pain anymore. Maybe-

**Author's Note:**

> So? Did you weep? How was it? Legible? Let me know!


End file.
